


Avalon

by DisposalUnit



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Established Relationship, Grief/Mourning, M/M, Not Really Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-14
Updated: 2014-03-14
Packaged: 2018-01-15 15:56:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 861
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1310596
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DisposalUnit/pseuds/DisposalUnit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A bomb blast.<br/>A blown-off human hand wearing a familiar watch.<br/>Reese, assuming the worst, is in shock and is grieving.<br/>Is it any wonder he misinterprets Shaw's words?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Avalon

**Author's Note:**

> My version of Reese sure has a tendency to jump to awful conclusions, doesn't he?
> 
> Arthurian legend has been twisted a bit to suit the needs of this story.

“There you are. Why didn’t you answer me? Hello?”

John hardly felt Shaw’s hands on his shoulders, impatiently shaking him from his shock as he knelt on the still-warm concrete.

“Come on. I can hear sirens. We have to get out of here _now_.”

He finally looked up at her, his face as pale as the flakes of ash that rained down upon them from the bombed-damaged, burning warehouse, the dusk sky visible above them through the blown-out roof. Then his eyes went down again to the charred, explosion-severed hand that lay before him, palm up and fingers slightly curled, the expensive wristwatch turned sideways so that the broken, soot-darkened face showed.

“Harold...” He managed to whisper. Had Finch known the bomb was about to go off? Was he terrified in his last moments? John wondered if he’d felt anything, or if it had been quick. Oh, he hoped it had been quick.

“Reese. Look at me. Finch is in the Avalon.”

It was a strange way to phrase the sentiment, but John found it oddly comforting. He imagined Harold receiving divine honors and the reverence of certain mortals, just as King Arthur did in legend. Harold, a heroic leader, a righteous man, was now arriving by silk-draped barge to a blessed paradise where all of his wounds would be healed and he could finally enjoy peace. For eternity.

The mental image seemed absurd, but also right. Harold deserved nothing less. Tears filled John’s eyes but didn’t spill as he felt his heart swell painfully with the sorrow of deep loss and the pride of having known, worked for and been loved by the brave, selfless man-- A man who had given up too much of his happiness and endured too much pain in his quest to help humanity-- as a whole and as individuals.

Harold may have been gone from John’s world, and John’s world was tremendously worse-off without him. But Harold was in a far better place.

“John. Get up! There’s nothing more for us to do here. We need to go _NOW_.”

Reese finally stood, then crouched down to gently remove the watch from the grievously damaged wrist before leaving the smoldering ruins alongside Shaw.

As they walked together down the deserted sidewalk, sirens in the distance and getting closer, John turned the watch over and over between his fingers. The broken front. “ _To Harold, the keeper of my soul. Love, John_ ” engraved on the back. 

With Finch gone, John had lost all motivation for self-preservation and Shaw had to keep prodding him to keep walking. He’d lost an essential part of himself. That part of himself had been blown to pieces by the bomb blast, and could never be put back together.

Something shattered within him and he stopped to lean against a wall as he choked out a sob.

“Jesus Christ, John. What is wrong with you?” Shaw took his upper arm and forcefully led him the rest of the way down the block. “Hurry up! Get in the fucking car!” She opened the front passenger door of a silver Toyota sedan, and half-shoved Reese down into the seat, scarcely waiting for him to bring in his legs before slamming his door shut and racing around to the other side so that she could take the driver’s seat. The engine growled and they took off down the street, tires squealing.

“Where we going?” she sighed. “Safe house?”

Reese barely nodded. There was bourbon there, and a bedroom in which he could drink himself to oblivion. Where he could be alone with his grief and his memories for a good long time. He didn’t want to think about the future beyond that. Without Finch, he had no future worth living.

“As appealing as a good night’s sleep sounds, Miss Shaw, I do need to finish up some urgent work at the library.”

John turned around so quickly he pulled a neck muscle.

Finch sat in the back seat, dried blood crusted to his nostrils and upper lip, his face badly bruised. “Mr. Reese? Is something wrong?”

Reese couldn’t speak. He squeezed the broken watch in his hand until it hurt, half-afraid the pain would wake him from this dream in which Finch was alive and relatively well. After a few moments, his fist relaxed and he wordlessly handed the broken watch to Harold.

“Oh, thank you, John! I was afraid that I would never see this again,” Harold smiled. “One of the mercenaries took it during the...” He didn’t say the word ‘beating’ because John looked upset enough already. “John, what’s troubling you?”

Reese had to swallow a couple of times before he found his voice. “I found the watch on someone’s blown-off hand. I thought you’d been...”

Shaw turned to him. “What?! I _told_ you Finch was safe, you dumb shit! Why don’t you listen?”

It suddenly occurred to Reese that ‘Avalon’ was the model of the car Shaw had hot-wired for their drive to the warehouse. They were in _the Avalon_ at that very moment.

Finch was alive and safe. John cracked a smile.

This Avalon would be pretty a good place to spend eternity.


End file.
